


refractions

by spheeris1



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, and finding herself, death and destruction, eve losing herself, love and sex, thoughts and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 21:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18432149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spheeris1/pseuds/spheeris1
Summary: Eve POV // drabble // "Eve stares at herself, torn between loathing and loving, the mirror like a silent sentry."





	refractions

/ /

Eve stares at herself, torn between loathing and loving, the mirror like a silent sentry. Watching but saying nothing; watching and waiting for the cracks to begin.

She has smashed a few reflections, in her time. Being a woman and being smart. Being a woman and not being soft. Being a color in a room full of white. Being Eve in a room full of not-Eves.

Eve stares at herself, finds her face to be a startling mystery but still somehow revealed. And she's told a few lies, in her time; told a few sanitized truths in order to get by, to get ahead, to somehow get past her own longings, to make sense of whatever propels her.

Niko used to find it all so quirky. Now, Niko finds her disturbing.

Eve wants to tell him that she agrees.  
Disturbed. Demented. Damned.

Eve stares at herself. Stares and stares and stares and stares. And the person looking back grins in response, a killer underneath the mask of a woman, beneath the cloak of respectability and morals and quiet calm.

Eve stares. And Eve stares back.

/ /

When she first met him, there was nothing in particular that stood out. A nice smile, sure – warmer than she was used to, not a shred of sarcasm – but nothing that made her pulse quicken in that swift, sickening way. 

He held the door open for her. He could appreciate a good drink. His eyes twinkled when she would curse. He kept her hair from falling into her eyes – when hungover, when frustrated, when she danced at two in the morning.

By the time a few years had gone by, she couldn't imagine not being with him. He laughed at her jokes, even if they weren't that funny, and he kept her stomach forever full. His kisses were tender and kind, like the brush of well-worn flannel against the shoulders. She didn't feel trapped, not by him; she felt trapped a bit by herself... in some ways, in ways she could never explain, not to him anyway...

When she first met him, she was still figuring shit out – about life, about a job, about all she would one day leave behind.

When she left him for Moscow, she was feet first off the precipice – rushing to an end, face blasted by the winds of her obsessions.

Eve was afraid that she had outgrown Niko for all the wrong reasons, in all the wrong ways, and that she couldn't stop it. But now she knows the truth.

A pile of carrots.  
A cavalcade of windows.  
A darkness that stretches like a shadow.

Now, she knows.

/ /

Eve wants to feel the sensation of her fist hitting Villanelle square in the face.

It's enough to say that it is for annoyance and for spite, for the upheaval and the madness. It's enough to say that Villanelle deserves it, for a million crimes, for a million slights and assumptions. It's enough to say that Eve is right and Villanelle is wrong.

Still, it is skin against skin and bone to bone, a shock to the system. It is purple and blue hues across the bridge of Villanelle's nose, sore and satisfying, and Eve wants it to hurt.

At least for a little while.

Eve wants to cause Villanelle pain, then strangely soothe it. Eve wants to sow the discord and then reap the pleasures of piecing it all back together again. Villanelle gazes at her, unnerving in her love-sickness, and Eve wants to slap her and kiss her and scream until hoarse.

Eve wants to pry open Villanelle's brain, dig out the answers and the meanings, root around until she knows everything there is to know. But it's the heart instead, that's what Villanelle is offering up, a mess of beating and bleeding adoration, aching in its need and cloying in its yearning.

Eve slaps her. Villanelle's eyes go bright. And they fuck one another until Eve can no longer think.

Still, Eve wants to run. Eve wants to disappear, wants to hate herself for all these mistakes being made, wants to burn up and turn to ash. Eve wants so much, wants too much, wants and wants until she is just a body filled up with endless wishes.

Villanelle's arm is coiled around Eve's waist. Desperate. Child-like clinging. It hurts, a little bit.

Eve wants it to hurt even more.

/ /

Eve finds her bleeding, one day in the far flung future. 

It's terribly quiet. Unbearably quiet. And Eve sees her grimace, red upon red – lips split with blood, stunning and horrifying – and Villanelle grins at Eve suddenly, aware and always in charge.

Even now. Even now.  
Even now...

...Eve finds her, because Eve always finds her, and she sags against the wall and the gun rests easy by her thigh and some crazy instinct kicks in, as if Eve should take that gun and place it to Villanelle's head and give her mercy, give her a way out, give her something that Eve could never manage to do all the other times.

“You... found... me...”

Coughed out, a laugh caught in clogged breathing, and Eve feels her own face tumble into a fluttery kind of happiness. And Eve drops to the ground, shuffles forward and gets dirt on her knees, inhales the cobwebs and the mustiness and the hot, rich copper scent of life.

“Yes.”

Villanelle blinks and bleeds and Eve feels dizzy, dizzy and lost, and it's insane but she wonders if the bullet in this gun is meant for herself. Because what will happen now? 

_What happens when you find someone, over and over, and lose yourself, Eve? What happens when there's no one left to chase, Eve?_

“Kiss me.”

_Isn't that how it all started, Eve? Just one kiss, to see if her desire for you would give you power over her... power over yourself, Eve?_

Her lips are slick yet sticky. Her fingers find the ends of Eve's hair and hold on loosely. And Eve takes her in, tongue warm and stained with Villanelle, and nothing else has ever felt so wrong and so right at the same time.

Villanelle slumps into Eve's body and doesn't move for a long, long time. 

Neither does Eve.

_Didn't you know it would always go this way, Eve?_

“...I love you.”

Words whispered into the pitch blackness, into the void that wicked hearts create, out of Eve's mouth and left sleeping upon Villanelle's cold cheek.

_Didn't you?_

/ / /

**(end)**

**Author's Note:**

> My heart is so full now that this show is back. As always, music played a big part in this thing & all mistakes are mine mine mine. Cheers.


End file.
